Alterum
by NozomigaAruNarabaKanaeru
Summary: The End of a Beginning and Beginning of an End is not much of a thing to ponder over. But the stories held over the span of one and the bonds made and cemented into lives tells of truths not revealed and lies told. Here's to one and two of the broken souls in the world. One from a heart torn apart and another from the other part lost. TW: cutting, suicide
1. Caret Initio Et Fine

Disclaimer: I like fanfics just fine, so no spending large amounts to own it.

Title: Alterum

Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rated: T

Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ichigo Kurosaki, Tensa Zangetsu, and others from various fandoms

Summary: The End of a Beginning and Beginning of an End is not much of a thing to ponder over. But the stories held over the span of one and the bonds made and cemented into lives tells of truths not revealed and lies told. Here's to one and two of the broken souls in the world. One from a heart torn apart and another from the other part lost.

* * *

_Draco's wedding._

The invitation laid innocently on the table, a layer of dust covering it.

He sat to a corner, empty bottles of alcohol surrounding his hunched over form, face overgrown with unshaven hair and clothes all rumpled from days of dress.

He can't let go.

* * *

He shouldn't hold on. The mantra repeats in his head over and over again.

He shouldn't hold on.

He shouldn't hold on.

He_ shouldn't _hold on.

But he does.

And in his hand, a small picture, the wizarding kind that moves, depicts two males holding onto each other and laughing in pure childish joy, eyes shining with a happiness never obtained by anything less than love. One was blond, the other a brunet. They fit, but didn't, like two opposite poles attracted to each other. One was Draco Malfoy and the other was Harry Potter. One left the other, and both are broken apart.

Yet, only he was left alone with a torn heart and bruised face.

* * *

"You look sick, Harry. Are you sure you should be in today?"

Tired green eyes come up to meet worried brown. He smiles, a small tilt to one's lips that barely passes off as a smile but as more of a grimace from the way his eyes frowns. "I'm fine. Now, who are the other parents that are to come?" He directs the conversation elsewhere, trying to distract the meddlesome woman.

The plump woman just sighs in irritation but goes along with the topic change, knowing that on days as such she wouldn't be able to force him to go back and rest. "I'm going to look at the children," she said instead of answering him.

Grateful, he sends her a small nod. She ignores it, leaving the room.

Lord, that brooding man will be the death of her one day.

* * *

He sighs and looks out the window. That look returned to his eyes, the one that he desperately kept in the deep, dark confines of his heart that's never to be allowed out; the overwhelming yearning that shreds him to pieces. But it came out, and the feelings surged up to the forefront of his mind. He cries.

Heart-wrenching sobs flow from his blubbering lips as he crouches over himself, curling into the fetal position.

He can't let go.

* * *

His feet felt heavy, and his shoulders were slouching down with the weight of the world atop of him. He didn't want to move, but time forced him to go and the needs of his body somehow grounded him into the reality of a Hell he didn't want to return to.

There was nobody waiting for him either way.

* * *

It hurt, but it felt exhilarating, as if it was letting out all of his troubles at once and allowing him a moment of peace.

He stared at the rivulets of crimson running down his arms, and drew another mark over smooth skin.

He felt better.

* * *

Consuming alcohol has lost its appeal. Drinks no longer clouded his mind or brought him to the dreams of heavens. All that he sees when darkness overtakes his eyes are not the dancing silver eyes filled with amusement teasing him lightly or gentle caresses that soothe and protect him in their embrace. No, a tumbling pain from a hill up top drops down on him and he falls further down into the darkness. He becomes blind, eyes not seeing anymore.

He hates hangovers.

* * *

He smiles wearily. It's hard to move his face nowadays. It feels so much better just to not move at all. He fiddles with the knife hidden in the deep recesses of his pocket, and he contemplates the idea. It had its merits.

It might not be that bad.

* * *

"Harry!" Someone shouted, but the fog smearing his vision won't move. He can't see the person.

"Harry, I said, you damn bastard! Get up!" Ah, he thinks he recognizes that voice. A smile lights up his face, genuine happiness comes from him as he utters his last word of pleading, "_Draco_."


	2. a Deucalione

Disclaimer: Me don't owns, 'cept for story.

* * *

What compelled him to first approach the guy, he'd never know. But something in him, the guy that is, something that just screamed _'Stop!' _prompted him to go to him.

The air around the man was quiet, as if time has slowed and stopped and nothing went on. He plopped down on the seat next to him, not bothering to ask for permission. A waitress came over, and he ordered a latte before turning over to the side slightly to stare at the man. He blatantly stared, not having the decency to at least pretend he wasn't. The man ignored him. Or, rather, the man didn't seem to notice him at all. So, he looked leisurely, spotting the details that told parts of this man's life.

Emerald eyes of the dull kind stared out the glass, watching the goings of people's days and how they lived, taking it in so intently as if he was learning from it, not knowing how to live himself. He took a sip of his drink and kept watching the peculiar man. His hair was too long for a guy, the fringe slightly overshadowing his eyes and glasses, covering his forehead from view. He wore clothes that seemed to be but days old. Yet, it was rumpled in such a way that suggested that he hadn't washed for quite a while.

A depressed air hanged around the man, warning people to not bother him and to stay away. His hands were constantly fiddling with something. When it's not playing with something in the pockets of the worn leather jacket, it was flipping over the cap of the coffee cup or even rolling around the empty chloroform.

He stared, and kept on staring. Hours passed, and he didn't even realize it. He didn't know what was so fascinating about the man seated in front of him, but he was just captivated. It seemed like a great way to spend time after having done nothing for over a year almost.

Huh, it's been a year already. He feels the empty hole inside of him widen just that bit more. It's been a year.

* * *

"Mister? Mister." A voice was calling out to him, a hand on his shoulder shaking him out of his reverie.

Confused orange-ish brown eyes look up to meet the ones of the waitress from before. The woman flushes. "I'm sorry to have waken you, but it's time for us to close."

He looks around, and just notices that the cafe was empty except for him. He stands up, and was about to head to the counter to pay his bill when the waitress spoke up again. "Um, the man who was sitting with you paid for your drink already."

He looks at her, surprise taking over his features for a second before it reverts back to its normal expression- one of extreme boredom that's able to hide the other irreverent details that he doesn't want exposed. "Oh," he says, what eloquence.

The woman forges onward, even with such an unresponsive and odd customer. "He also left a note for you." She takes out a folded piece of yellow paper, stained with something that he couldn't quite decipher. He takes it out of her hands with a mumbled, "Thanks," before he heads out and leaves.

The note only says, _'It's not nice to stare.'_ And he laughs. He genuinely laughs for the first time since _then. _He hopes to meet this man again.

* * *

And they do meet again. But in quite different circumstances this time around. He was taking a nightly stroll to relieve himself of bothering thoughts when he saw him. He hadn't recognized him at first until he saw the same unruly hair and slim-wired glasses.

The man was completely plastered, laying there all by his lonesome self on the dark street in the middle of the night. His face was unshaven this time, and he emitted a body odor that was, quite frankly, repulsing. How the man could go on like this without bathing, he wouldn't know. Still, he decided to help this lonely broken man. This man who seemed to have the burden of the world on his shoulders and the unbearable pain of lost weighing his soul and heart down.

For some reason, he felt the man was a kindred spirit and was drawn to him. Therefore, that's the reason he gave himself to haul the shorter man over his shoulder and bring the unknown stranger home.

* * *

After settling everything down and putting the man on his bed to allow him a peaceful slumber, he pulled out a futon and slept himself. Except, he was once again awakened by the nightmares that taunt him and by the whimpers of one agonized man.

He gets up, and walks over to wake the man up from the terrors that haunt him. But as he wandered over, he saw that the man had his eyes wide open, and blindingly painful eyes stared into nothingness. He didn't know what to do. He was never a person who comforted another, practically only knowing how to speak with his fists. But, as he watched the man, an overwhelming urge appeared, because the man reminded him of the torture of living day after day while a great part of what made them the person they are is lost. So, he sat down on the bed, taking care to not jostle the man stuck in a terror unknown to him. Then slowly, and hesitantly, he brought the man in his arms and held him as a mother would to her child who saw the monster hiding under their bed. Gently, he rocked him back and forth, and the whimpers slowly died down.

He stared at the ceiling and contemplated for a moment just to rouse the man again if only to keep him away from the horrors that will surely plague him again once dreams reach out to touch his mind once again. He shakes his head. People have to learn to cope with those even if they can't. He had to learn, and still has to. Staring out the window without that usual presence in the back of his head, he felt the cold creep up on him, climbing and plowing its way up his back before reaching out to touch him. The silence felt deafening.

* * *

Green eyes blinked open blearily, still trying to clear away the sleep and to chase away the hangover that he'll definitely feel soon. He sits up, studying his unfamiliar surroundings. As his eyes wandered down to the floor, he spotted the boy from the cafe a few days ago -or was it a few weeks?- who had been staring at him sleeping soundly on a mattress on the floor. He thought for a moment to wake the kid before choosing to not take him from his slumber, the bags stretching beneath those closed lids telling of the many nights that he must've stayed up before. He fell back down on the mattress he was lying on himself, a hand going over his eyes, covering them from view. He can't remember what occurred yesterday. It doesn't matter. His head hurts.

A noise came from down below and a fluff of orange hair plopped up in front of him while a hand dragged his arm away from his eyes. Orange-ish brown eyes stared down into his own dull green. A stoic face, something that he has grown accustomed to while staring at the mirror every morning, invaded his sight and he was met with the mop of neon hair he spotted earlier. Both said nothing.

The silence was broken by a knock to the door. It opened. "_Ichi-nii, we_-" The voice abruptly stopped, black eyes going wide at the scene it saw. Nobody moved.

Then, someone spoke, a rough voice colored with an underlying gentleness that was firm and unyielding to the command uttered. "_Karin, go back down. Tell Yuzu that I'll eat later._" Mutely, the girl standing half hidden behind the door nodded her head and headed out.

They never broke eye contact and green continued to stare into orange-brown. After about five minutes, he moved his head, surveying the room he was in in more detail. There wasn't much in it. It's not exactly sparse in terms of furniture seeing as there was a lamp towards one corner, a closet to the side with sliding doors, a couch put into the corner across from the standing lamp and a book case to another wall, not to mention the bed piled with covers of different shades of blue and the mattress on the floor. Yet, there was an emptiness to this space of living, as if there holds no attachment here even with the subtle personal touches placed at various nooks and crannies of the room. It lacked nothing in the sense of materials, allowing a person who wouldn't look closely to feel that someone actually lives in this room, but the emotional or sentimental things that a person would usually possess isn't in sight which gives this room an air of desolation. There's a loneliness of some sort that hangs above this room in heavy cloud.

"Are you done looking?" The boy leaning over him spoke, the voice sounding as if the child was but somewhere in his late teens, but so weary with battle that involuntarily a tone of commandment comes from him- something that he himself is so familiar with, prompting a wry smile to twist his lips. It seems as if the teen shares his views, seemingly understanding why that grim expression was wrung upon his face, laughing in mockery at his own life.

The orange-haired boy leaned back, sitting back and folding his long legs beneath him. He sat up himself, grasping for his glasses which were put in his breast pocket. He put them on and looked at the boy in front of him, realizing just then that they should introduce themselves, because he doesn't feel like just calling him 'boy' in his mind anymore; that word itself brings back enough bad memories anyway. He holds out his hand and, for the first time in a long time, crooked up a small genuine smile. "_The name's Hatter, Ayaki. Nice to meet you._"

Hearing the immaculate Japanese flow from the foreigner's mouth, he showed no outward reaction towards it and replied in kind rather than speaking in English as he had earlier. But first, of course, his signature grunt came then he said, "_Kurosaki, __Ichigo _." Then, looking over his state of dress with a critical eye, he spoke in English while wrinkling his nose to show some sort of dissatisfaction. "You need a shower."

With that, Harry thinks that that cemented their bond. Because, he hadn't laughed that hard since_ then_. The darkness recedes a little now that someone of a similar situation, yet also absolutely different has stepped in to take a role in this derailed play. A new character has come, now let the wheels turn and commence this horribly planned out performance. May auspiciousness follow them.


End file.
